


how do you (how does one) choose a title for a smut fic

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, And Now After The Much Acclaimed Puppet Smut, Closet Sex, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, No Dialogue, Oral Sex, Random presents: Human Smut, Rough Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Smite Me Down And Save Me The Suffering, Tenderness, With Actual Reproductive Organs, almost (they speak like. once), i am. so embarassed about posting this, i have Never Sexed nor Plan To so sorry if stuff is weird/incorrect, im gonna just. stop here, they are TENDER and GENTLE and in LOVE, wally lives in the safehouse, with every tag i find a piece of my soul dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: He wasn't quite sure why or how they had started it.Wally only remembered walking in Sammy's office one night, far after everybody had already gone home, and finding Sammy still there, just sitting at his desk, not doing anything. Smoking a cigarette.
Relationships: Wally Franks/Sammy Lawrence
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	how do you (how does one) choose a title for a smut fic

He wasn't quite sure why or how they had started it.

Wally only remembered walking in Sammy's office one night, far after everybody had already gone home, and finding Sammy still there, just sitting at his desk, not doing anything. Smoking a cigarette.

They'd looked at one another for a couple of endless minutes, the music director expecting some sort of question, of joke, maybe even a complaint about him being there so late.

Instead, Wally had sat on the desk.

He'd looked at the music director taking slow drags and exhaling puffs of smoke until, about an hour or two later, the other had stood up, bid the janitor good night with a nod of the head, and left.

It became a thing.

Sammy would sit somewhere, smoking quietly, and Wally would find him and sit with him until he left.

All in complete silence.

It had felt surreal at first. Sammy never sounded nor looked particularly thrilled to be dealing with Wally on the job (he was more annoyed that outright furious, although that was a feeling that unified his opinions on most of the occurrences at the studios), and in his breaks he had never seeked him out or attempted to connect with him; the handyman hadn't been particularly keen on spending time with him either, seeing as he didn't seem to like him particularly much. But it became normal really fast - it didn't take long for either to understand why they would be there there so late: Sammy was looking for a way to relax after overworking himself, and Wally... Well, Wally didn't have anywhere else to go.

Neither would speak.

Not even a word.

It was as if they had agreed on a silent rule, one that prevented them from saying anything during these hours they spent suspended in an unbelievable quiet.

Wally would look at Sammy's lips, at how they carefully curled around his cigarette and opened slightly when he let the smoke out of his mouth. The janitor had never smoked before. As he looked at the tantalizing view, he wondered how tobacco would taste like.

One night he left his seat and kissed Sammy.

His tongue scavenged across the musician's mouth, testing every tooth, every inch of his palate, every cell of his tongue; and he had no idea of what its taste was called, but he was immediately hooked onto it, rendered dependent from the nicotine. He held the other man's shoulder and nape for a chance to better angle himself, pushing for new openings, for new treasures to find, for new flavours to make him lightheaded.

Sammy let him explore without a word. His eyes rolled backwards as the janitor uncovered more of him, lost in the magnificent sensation, only sometimes remembering to kiss back and sliding across the rows of the younger's teeth, savouring what little he could find while his jaw oh so pleasantly hurt for being left hanging open for so long. He moaned - oh, how he moaned - and his hands moved to cup his kisser's legs, to feel them, to run over them, to caress them.

Wally had almost not noticed them the first time around, but soon enough, with the more nights they kissed, ravenous and passionate and lost in hot bliss, the more their presence became wonderfully unbearable. The way they drew exhausting circles all over his thighs made him bite down harder, their sensual imprints on his hips made him groan in delight. Once he was so caught up in their gorgeous movements that he barely felt his mouth grow empty, the humid hungry lips pressing and sucking at his Adam's apple, the daft fingers easily unbuckling the suspenders of his overalls to let the bib fall - and then he'd felt something so outstanding that he'd choked on his own gasp, and with a head that seemed more like a hot air balloon he'd looked down to find his cock completely gone.

Sammy's face gently pushed him to rest against the desk and he felt his penis hit the back of the older man's throat. The inside of Sammy's mouth was warm, wet, so wonderfully good, so incredibly irresistible, and when the music director began humming a song he felt it reverberate all across his dick with such a delightful vibration that he could have come there and then. He tried to buck into Sammy's mouth, clenching his teeth to keep his voice in check as his fingers began kneading and pulling weakly on the musician's hair. Not that his ministrator had let his hands go idle - he probed and pushed and squeezed the handyman's legs and rear with every thrust. Even when Wally gave in and came in his mouth exhausted by the overstimulation and he himself lost his senses for a second, his fingers were still grabbing and groping the tender flesh as if to make sure not a drop was left to waste.

Wally had looked at Sammy - at his flushed face, at how he swallowed almost easily the whole thing, at the bit of cum that had managed to dribble out of his nose. Once he'd been fully back into his own faculties, he'd made him some tea to wash the aftertaste away. The musician had greatly appreciated the thought.

He'd wondered how a whole cock in his mouth would have felt like.

It had taken some time for him to find out. He wasn't used to such an exercise, having never done such a thing before.

Sammy was patient; he guided him by carding his hands through his hair and encouraging him slowly, bit by bit. First the tip, easy, easy, and then calmly, towards the swollen center and finally the base. He respected what the janitor would choose day by day without opposing him, be he ready to try or fine with them simply sitting in each other's company. Some days Wally wouldn't be sure, and he'd stop too soon, or not begin at all; others he'd be too eager, and either almost choke or nearly vomit. Some he would spit it all out with a wheeze, and others he wouldn't have enough room in his mouth and most of the cum would splutter down to the floor. Sammy didn't get angry. He only ever caressed his cheeks and chin, patted his back when his gag reflex made him grimace and cough, and gently guided him back to his erection when he saw he was ready to try again.

The day he had finally felt the tip brush against the back of his neck he was completely overwhelmed. He became so very suddenly conscious of his own erection pulling at the fabric of his pants, aching and nearly collapsing when Sammy gave a satisfied sigh. He'd briefly wondered if he too had been so aroused when he would suck the janitor's dick.

But then Sammy began moving, and Wally's eyes rolled back and his whole body slumped obendiently, immediately adhering to the musician's rhythm.

Sammy's thrusts were more like gentle waves against his face, accompanied by his thighs as they tightened and relaxed against his cheeks. His cock massaged the back of the handyman's throat much like his hands massaged the sides of his head and moved it to sway in a circular manner: right, forward, left, backwards, and then repeat.

If he could have, Wally would have gladly broken their unspoken rule: he wanted to call for him desperately and to beg, over and over, not even for any reason other than the simple sake of begging. His arms were weakly abandoned by his side after they'd slid down the musician's body, his legs were melting on the floor from the sheer pleasure, his head was light with lack of air and blood, his dick was red and glossed with precum and straining and yelping and weakly pulling his hips to rut aimlessly, and his moaning mouth was full of cock.

He didn't even have to swallow when Sammy came. It all washed down his throat with a pair of thrusts in a couple of generous loads, landing squarely in his stomach with the weight of a bag of rocks. He kept the musician in his mouth during his own orgasm, and maybe he would have let himself hang from his crotch the whole night, and possibly the day after as well, if Sammy hadn't gently pushed him back until the entire organ hadn't fallen off of his aching jaw.

He gulped down what felt like a bottle of salty saliva, panting as his lungs regained the air they craved so dearly, and looked up at Sammy a little breathless.

Sammy had smiled, caressed him, and kissed him.

The glass of water they had shared after had tasted like the river in the garden of Eden.

They didn't know what they had - didn't have a name for it, didn't have a voice to call it with - but it was good. God, it was so good.

The kissing, the touching, the grabbing and pulling and aching, the taking someone else in your mouth and being taken in turn, but also simply the sitting together somewhere, the late hours, the night, the silence, the cigarette, the puffs of smoke coming out of musical lips, and the smiles, the hands, the tea, the strange tenderness between them.

It was theirs and theirs alone, and nobody would have ever known, and it was so good.

The day was the same as it had always been, with annoyance and stress tainting every moment they were in each other's company; but during the day there was work, noise, deadlines, problems, trash cans, pipes bursting, songwriting, tiredness, everything and everybody.

At night there was just Wally, Sammy, and their silence.

Sometimes, still, Wally had felt like something was missing.

Sammy had too, apparently.

Their first time had happened in the closet.

Again, he couldn't have said exactly how it happened. They'd been sitting across from one another, with hands sometimes wandering towards each other's legs to caress them, some touches more innocent than others; after that, Wally's memories were foggy, confused. He vaguely remembered kissing slowly, so very close, hands wrapped around two different cocks, the sweet tantalizing taste of Sammy's dick leaving his mouth, and deft fingers coated in something slick scissoring inside his asshole to make it all easier while he trembled delighted, sustaining himself by laying his forearms against the wall. His vivid recollections started again when he'd felt something hit his insides, and looking down to his stomach he'd noticed he could make out the outline of the tip of Sammy's hard cock pressing against his abdomen.

He'd opened his mouth without a noise. Almost in disbelief, one of his hands had gone to touch the small bump in his scrawny frame, reveling at the feeling once it ascertained the dick was indeed there, throbbing and pushing. He'd let out a drawn out 'ah' as his own erection shivered, greatly overjoyed at the revelation; the mere thought of the small bulge in his stomach made it tense and aching with want.

Sammy was holding him from the hips, thumbs circling on them as his own gave quick pushes while he tried to adjust inside the tight engulfing space that was Wally's rectum. Each little thrust gained a worldless but appreciative drawl from the handyman, and so did the musician's kisses and nips and sucking and gentle bites slowly covering every inch of his partner's shoulders and shoulder blades alike with little red marks. One of his hands slipped briefly to pump the janitor's dick with teasing deliberation: the choked cry of pleasure he earned was gorgeous music. He retracted his cock a little to give himself some momentum, making his partner hum in disappointment shortly as he tried to follow him, to keep him inside, before he regained his contented tone thanks to a hickey by the neck. It was just like tuning a violin.

When Sammy had begun to thrust into him at a pace that was soon to rapidly increase, Wally hadn't wondered how it would have felt like to fuck somebody, to pound into them with movements that became more and more erratic as time passed, to feel them close tightly and struggle and come undone around his cock, to moan and cry out for the deliciously mind-numbing repetition; he hadn't wondered because he could not have dreamed of shifting roles, _would_ not have _ever_ dreamed of shifting roles. He felt something similar to an agonizing pleasure, pulling him back and forth between ecstatic bliss and an overstimulating reality, a plethora of sensations hitting him from all directions at all times in a needy, almost endless, tantalizing cycle. If he could have he would have followed the rising and falling of his stomach with every thrust, feeling the shape change under his spread palm; but his knees were weak already and he would have certainly tumbled down onto the ground if even one of his arms hadn't been cemented on the wall to sustain him. He only moaned loudly whenever he felt himself stretching, never saying a word - too overcome by pleasure to even try to think clearly, let alone of breaking their unspoken rule - only letting a string of rhythmic ah!, ah!, ah!, escape from his lips. Sammy moaned and groaned and hummed with him, on him, in him, his naked skin humid and horrendously incandescent and his mouth hungry for younger skin to nip and kiss and lick and make cry out.

Wally came first, although not too early; halfway through his release Sammy followed suit, his cum pooling warmly in the janitor's belly. The orgasm didn't leave any visible mark, but to Wally it felt impossibly heavy and filling all the same. Both of them were naked from the waist down, panting, and covered in each other's sweat. Their breaths made the air trapped in the closet sweltering with their heat.

Sammy had pulled him from the wall to rest against him, a hand on his chest to hold him in place. Together they had slipped down until they were both resting on the floor, janitor still seated atop the musician. He kissed the lobe of his ear without any sensuality, with kindness; the younger man nuzzled his forehead against his gratefully, a couple of tears caused by the strain being brushed away by a gentle thumb.

By chance, Wally's hand had wandered below to brush at his belly, perhaps still not over the intense pleasure; and by accident, pressing gently on his stomach he had managed to find once again the small bump of Sammy's so very welcome dick. It was all it took to send a shiver to tingle down across the length of his own cock, stiffening it slightly. His hips rolled a little to adjust to - conceal, it had almost seemed - his growing erection; but the two of them were so closely connected that Wally's restlessness had transmitted to Sammy as well, and his cock too had begun to slowly but surely harden.

The musician held the janitor's hand, pressing it a little more against the tip of his penis, while his free palm wrapped around the still tender dick. Wally hitched his breath - his face hid against Sammy's neck, caught by surprise and then calmed down by a loving kiss on the forehead. As their lips moved to melt together he tried to help him, his fingers too getting a hold of his cock to aid Sammy's, but he soon grew too overwhelmed to offer any meaningful assistance. He resorted to slowly spreading his legs open wide and rocking his hips as best as he could to make sure the music director could stretch his stomach even without moving, head thrown back against the wall to be kissed in a haze.

It didn't last long: maybe it had been too soon after their previous intercourse. Their orgasms weren't nearly as generous as they had been mere minutes before, but in their defense they had been exhausted.

That was when Sammy had found out about the 'house'. It wasn't a house, of course - it was shaped more like a bare bones apartment, small and simple and encased (hidden) in a much bigger building, but it was a home nonetheless, and as a home it had towels, clean clothes, a mattress to lay down on to rest or a hammock if one preferred it, and running water that got just warm enough if you simply had the patience to wait a bit for a bath or a shower.

Wally hadn't expected him to like it.

He hadn't expected him to think anything of it at all.

The first day after he'd brought him there so both of them could clean up, he hadn't found him anywhere past the closing hours. He had tried every department, even venturing in the lowest floors. His eyes were growing weary when he had dragged himself, dejected, back to the ‘house’; Sammy had jolted back to consciousness from his seat near the grammophone when the door had opened. He had smiled at him.

The second day the music director had brought canned soup - not bacon soup, thank God; it was another kind, which one it didn't matter. They had eaten together while playing old records.

The third day he had brought a banjo. His own, so he could practice if he wanted. Or if Wally wanted to try his hand at it. As a matter of fact, he did.

The sixth day he had decided to stay for the night. His hand had hung from the hammock to hold the janitor's.

The ninth day they'd slept in the same bed.

And the twelfth day Sammy's hand had longingly caressed the back of Wally's thigh.

Today was the twelfth day.

The leg so longed for was resting on the musician's shoulder, toes curling in ecstatic awe, the knee red from the relentless kissing it was being subjected to; its companion laid relaxed and half abandoned on Sammy's thigh, faithfully following its movements as he thrusted into the janitor. Wally had discarded his arms at the sides of his head and abdomen as he simply let himself be handled and molded as the other wished, mouth agape to breathe hot bothered gasps that were only a couple decibels shy from turning into cries of delight. He looked straight at the other man's face with a lopsided smirk (drunk on pleasure and a little cum that had bossily shoved its way into his mouth as he was lubricating Sammy's cock the same way he had helped Wally's ass prepare for the welcomed intruder), while with a weak hand he felt the subtle rising and falling of his stomach each time his partner pushed against his inner walls. His stare was met by an equally lustfully adoring one, one accompanied by incandescent huffs of air that curled all around his leg. With what seemed like a great struggle, the music director managed to move his idle hand so that he could intertwine his fingers with the handyman's own free ones. They both held tight, clenching their whole bodies as they strengthened their hold on each other: close, so terribly close, oh how it burned delightfully, just a little more, even just a couple of minutes, of seconds -

Relief washed over them both like a tidal wave as they released.

They allowed one another the time to catch their breaths, warm blood still pumping loudly in their temples. Sammy rested the janitor's leg on the mattress and leaned over him; the kiss he planted on Wally's lips was wet and sticky, drenched in sweat, before he gently left his sweetheart's body to regain strength as he took a shower.

Wally laid.

He could have spent the rest of his life laying as he waited for his lover to wash himself, smelling foul and breathing deeply, with his skin feeling as if it had been sewn onto the mattress, and it would have not bothered him in the slightest. The afterglow made him see stars and slowed time down so much he could envision it perfectly into a droplet of dense honey dripping terribly slowly from a spoon, dragging the rest of itself down in a thinly stretched line before ever arriving to its target.

Sammy, however, was faster than an agonizingly slow honey droplet. His hair fell rather softly from his just cleaned shoulder on Wally's forehead as his face peeked into the janitor's vision, a smile warmly spreading between his cheeks.

He passed a slightly humid towel over his darling's face, gently, before working his way to his neck and to the rest of his body to rinse the sweat off of him. The janitor left his body soft and malleable for the musician to move at his discretion, not that he seemed too focused on it at the moment: neither reacted much when the cloth passed over the handyman's groin, or when it lingered slightly and kind of sensually on his leg. The music director gently prodded his side; he obliged and turned to lay on his stomach, patiently awaiting the end of his cleaning like an amiable young man. He closed his eyes as the towel swept across his neck, his shoulders, his back... He felt the palm pressing on him widen at the end of his spine, a finger pushing tentatively against it before proceeding down his leg - and sooner than he would have thought his ass was cupped just harshly enough to make him gasp in surprise as Sammy's lips sucked on his neck.

Adrenaline shot through his body, but as pleasant as it was, his tiredness made the sensation short-lived; he would have gladly welcomed the initiative at any other time, but right now he just wanted some rest and care. Wally's lips parted to sigh: "Not yet...", and the words spurted out of them like a fresh spring of mountain water.

The musician chuckled against his skin. He loosened his hold on his sweetheart's buttocks and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek: "Alright then." he simply said, understanding how weary he felt. He finished refreshing his legs and tucked the both of them in, pulling a previously discarded blanket over their backs.

The rule was broken; they could have talked, asked questions, shared secrets.

They wrapped their arms around one another and kissed a couple more times, a little still drunk on the love they'd made. Then Wally hid in the crook of Sammy's neck, and they just slept.


End file.
